


what we choose to forget

by black_telephone (orphan_account)



Series: Droplets of Blood [4]
Category: Dexter (TV), Dexter Series - All Media Types, Dexter Series - Jeff Lindsay
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Divergence, Dex/Deb, F/M, First Kiss, Half-Sibling Incest, Morally Ambiguous Character, Or Is It?, Pseudo-Incest, Teen!Deb, Teen!Dex, debster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 22:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12921831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/black_telephone
Summary: Afterwards, everything went back to normal..Everything was right with the world..The world is round and not flat and brothers and sisters did not kiss.But he still wonders (just sometimes) why they have beer and take-outs and steaks but never ever do they have scotch…





	what we choose to forget

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Dexter.  
> Repost from ff. net

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_More than what happened, it is what didn't happen that lets you know the truth..._

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It isn't dark. Not yet. The sun is yet to set. Harry isn't home. He isn't gonna be home for a while. There is no reason to go looking for Deb right then. Not really.

But Dexter doesn't really want her to get in trouble. Because if she does get in trouble, she would be inexplicably mad at him. She seems to be the only one who can get a rise out of him. And he can only curb his homicidal tendencies for so many times.

He doesn't want to kill Deb. No. Not yet. Not Deb. He's too… fond of her. Besides Harry would disapprove.

So, he goes looking for Deb – to warn her that Harry would be home soon.

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He finds her sitting in the back yard, staring at the slowly darkening sky. Her hair is unruly, eyes puffy and she looks like a slob. She's sipping from what appears to be a bottle of… Scotch? Isn't eating ice-cream the expected protocol ?

Where did she get that? He doesn't ask. If he did, he may have to tell Harry. She's underage. She shouldn't be drinking.

Suddenly, she senses his presence and whips her head to look at him. And hides the scotch behind her back. It's futile, really. He's already seen it.

Her voice has a slightly tipsy and slightly panicky tone to it as she asks, "Dad is home?"

He sighs, "No."

"Oh."

She casually turns her head around and sips the scotch again leisurely. Her eyes are half-lidded and after each long sip she smacks her lips together and then licks it. As if she's savoring the taste. But the frown on her face tells him otherwise.

He's surprised. Dear Darling Debra isn't normally so bold. She does her sins in private. Afraid of the Disapproving Dexter and Harry. Though she doesn't mind giving him a piece of her mind, she is also demure. Besides, she knows that he is a tattle-tale.

As if reading his mind, she asks extending the bottle towards him, "You want some?"

He knows this is a tactic. If he also partakes in the 'crime', lesser are the chances that he'll blabber about it.

It doesn't offend him though. It is actually quite pleasing to learn that Deb is starting to learn the wicked ways of the world. Was he even feeling a little bit of pride?

He's interrupted from his monologue by Deb's irritated voice, "Well, do ya?"

Maybe it's because a normal teen couldn't resist the offer and he needs to pretend to be normal, maybe it's because he would also like a drink, or maybe… Just maybe it's because he senses that something is wrong with Deb and wants to find out what it is that he says, "Yeah".

And he takes the bottle and sits beside her.

.

.

The sky is becoming darker and Deb is staring at it as if it holds the answers to all of life's questions. He is staring at the bottle in his hand and wondering about hygiene and trying to decide whether he should put his mouth where Deb's has been a moment ago. He isn't really too keen to exchange saliva.

He looks at her again and he notices that she's staring at the grass right now. He can't really see her face. Her thick brown hair is hiding her face. He thinks he hears a sniffle. Was she crying? What was he supposed to do if she was crying? What is the appropriate social response for it?

He takes a sip of the scotch and nearly coughs and splutters. Damn! He can feel the hot burning liquid searing through his throat when he hears her mumble something.

He chokes out, "What?"

"I said I had sex."

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Oh.

Oh. Oh… How was he supposed to react to that? Act like Harry? Become indignant and demand to know with whom she was? Or be like Mom? Lecture her about safe sex?

He mumbles, "Okay". Just to clear the stifling awkward air around him, he takes another sip of the scotch.

She's still looking at the grass and he still can't see her face when she continues, "I… I lost my virginity. And it's not that. I mean… It was a few months ago. It's just… I- We broke up. And that's fucking okay too. I was going to dump him anyway. I… I just – He didn't even like me, you know. I… I was just so stupid… so stupid."

This is even more awkward. So he settles for another "Okay".

Suddenly she looks up at him and her eyes are full of anger and pain and disgust and fury.

She doesn't yell. She whispers instead and somehow that makes more of an impact. "You're such an asshole."

She stands and snatches the bottle from his hands and takes a long gulp.

And then abruptly she sputtering and coughing and half-puking and so he holds her hair away from her face. "Fuck!" she yells.

She's just mad right now and somehow he being there and being silent and holding her hair away from her face just aggravates her. She slaps his hands away and pointing directly between his eyes, she hisses at him, "Fuck you." Each word as sharp as a bullet. "Fuck. you."

He doesn't retort. Maybe because right now he sees how vulnerable she is and he knows that she's more pained than she's mad.

She takes another gulp of the scotch and somehow the bitter burning liquid soothes her a little. She sits back down and returns to looking at the dark grey sky. He pretends that he doesn't see the occasional tear tripping down her cheek. And she is grateful for that…

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"It's all fucked up, isn't it?" she asks. And it takes him a while to respond because they've been sitting in silence for a while and he isn't sure that he actually heard her.

But, then he responds, "Yeah, it is."

She licks her lips and it tastes faintly of alcohol and bile.

"It's silly. We've all been told the world is rosy and love is frigging great but nobody tells you how much of a mess it really is."

"World or Love?" he asks.

"Both."

He doesn't know much about either and so he just nods. He reaches for the bottle and takes a sip. A few minutes ago he was worried about hygiene. It is funny how he isn't really bothered by that now.

The stars are slowly peeking out. A gentle night breeze flows by. The air has a musty scent to it.

Tranquility.

He could always appreciate tranquility.

She lets out a self-depreciating snort. "I was such a dork!"

He chuckles, "Was? You are a dork. But… But, not stupid."

She shrugs, "Yeah, right."

And suddenly he feels inadequate. He feels responsible for her lack of self-confidence. He took Harry away from her. He made her feel unwanted. And even just for a moment, he wants her to understand just how good and… pure she is.

His voice is solemn as he says, "You're not stupid, Deb. You – you believe in the idea of love or goodness and… and that is something I never could do. I-I envy you for that."

And then she's looking at him. She's not just looking at him, but looking at him. Into him… And for a moment he feels naked. He feels terrified because he's wondering whether he had dropped a hint that he's a psychopath. Whether a creeping doubt has invaded her mind.

But she doesn't act terrified. She doesn't act suspicious. She just smiles and rests her head on his shoulders. He doesn't really know whether this is normal but if he couldn't get her ice-cream the least he could do would be to offer his shoulders, right?

"You're still an asshole." She murmurs.

"Okay."

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A few minutes have passed by and the sky is dark and the night is getting cold. He can only feel the warmth of Deb's body pressed to his side. It feels that she is dozing off. "Deb, Get up. Harry would be home any minute. Get up!"

She's half-awake and she's looking at him. She's still drowsy and looks dazed and he realizes why he can't kill her. She's too much like a child. He likes children. He could never kill a child.

"Get up" He says and pushes her off his body.

"I'm up!" She declares, "Stop fucking pushing me." Maybe not too much like a child.

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It is getting colder and everything is quiet and still. Moonlight will start filtering in soon through clouds of smog and dust.

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Tranquility is lost. And he can't help but wonder whether he is okay with it too.

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Her hair is plastered onto the sides of her cheeks and so he brushes it off. It is an unconscious movement. He didn't put any thought to it.

But then suddenly she's leaning into his hand. The air grows heavier. Stuffy. She leans into him and their faces are just millimeters apart. He could easily ask her what the hell she was doing. Or maybe he could just get up and walk away.

But he stays.

There is something in her semi-closed eyes that makes him stay rooted to the spot. He doesn't know whether he moved or she did. But one of them surely did.

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Their lips meet.

Her lips feel dry and chapped and slightly slick with cheap alcohol.

Slow and tentative at first but slowly turning more passionate. His eyes must have been closed otherwise he'd have realized what he was doing and stopped it.

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She tasted like cheap scotch and bile.

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She tasted like Damnation.

He could suddenly taste blood. The metallic flavor assaulted his taste-buds and just like that he feels electrified. Did she just bite his lips? Maybe Dear Darling Debra isn't as demure as he thought. He threads his hands through her unruly hair.

But then she suddenly withdraws. She licks her lips and tastes blood. She looks confused and bewildered and she looks at his face searching for something. Whatever it was she must _not_ have found it, because the next second she stands up and run her fingers down her face.

"I-…" She starts to say something but then decides against it. She just walks away.

He stands there feeling awkward and piqued. Interesting turn of events.

And then she turns around and says those three little words…

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"It didn't happen."

Such a vague statement. He doesn't really understand what happened. Or what didn't happen. He just… He feels confused and conflicted. He felt the irrational urge to point out the truth – But it did happen.

Instead he just nods and says, "Okay."

He licks his lips.

He licks his lips and tastes his own blood and damnation.

"Okay."

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True to their word, the incident didn't happen.

He found a place to dispose of the bottle (it wasn't too hard, much easier than disposing the corpse of your neighbors' pets) and she cleaned herself up and when Harry came home everything was as it was.

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Everything was right with the world.

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The world is round and _not_ flat and brothers and sisters did _not_ kiss.

But he still wonders (just sometimes) why they have beer and take-outs and steaks but never ever do they have scotch…

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End file.
